All Applicants Welcome
by justbolts
Summary: Destitute and desperate, Bluestreak becomes the Cybertronian equivalent of a mail-order bride.  A story about politics.  Bluestreak/Thundercracker/Skywarp
1. Chapter 1

**All Applicants Welcome**

**Warnings:** this chapter: robotic versions of depression and anxiety. Overall; graphic plug and play smut, threesomes, violence, genocide, questionable humor.

**Pairing(s): **Bluestreak/Thundercracker/Skywarp, Sideswipe/Sunstreaker

**Summary:** Destitute and desperate, Bluestreak becomes the Cybertronian equivalent of a mail-order bride. A story about politics.

**Continuity: **Marvel G1 inspired pre-war AU

**Notes - Geography: **I'm playing a bit fast and loose with the geography of Cybertron and the location of it's city-state here, but it's all for a Greater Cause (plot device). For the purpose of this fic, Praxus shares a border with Vos to the North East, Protihex to the South and South West, and the Neutral Territories to the North West. They are closely allied with Protihex and the city-state Uraya, which sits opposite them across the Neutral territories. Vos borders Praxus and Tarn, with a length of the Rust Sea separating them the nearby Iacon.

**Notes - Time units:**

Cybertron has a long, elliptical orbit around its sun; at the extreme ends of the orbit, it receives very little solar radiation, resulting in two light seasons and two dark seasons. A vorn is the length of time it takes Cybertron to complete an orbit, roughly eighty-three years. An orn is a single rotation of Cybertron on its axis; it is broken up into six shifts. Each shift is eight joor. Five orn make up a megacycle. A rotation is the time it takes the slowest of Cybertron's two moons to orbit the planet.

A joor is 1 and 1/4th hours

A shift is 10 hours

An orn is 60 hours

A megacycle is 12. 5 days, just shy of two weeks

A rotation is 60 day, or 8.5 weeks

A breem is 8.3 minutes.

A klik is just over a minute.

A nanoklik is a second.

* * *

><p>There were sites and adverts for it all over the net, but according to his research, the legit requests were <em>only<em> posted through the official city network and accessible at the community hubs.

So the first thing he did after receiving yet another rejection notice was head to the local town square, tap in his citizenship code at the hub, and download that orn's repository of legally vetted 'Want' ads. It took a couple of breem to weed out the type he was specifically looking for, then a full joor to steadily pare it down to a list of half a dozen that fit his requirements, didn't creep him out too much, and that he had even a small chance of getting accepted for. This ended up being good timing, because a final eviction notice landed in his inbox right about then and he had to frantically drive home to confront his landmanager.

"I still have two more megacycles!" he said desperately, "You can't kick me out now!"

Heavyswipe just shook his helm. "I'm sorry about this, Bluestreak, I really am. But even if you find a job tomorrow you won't be able to work enough duty shifts to meet the housing requirements. I'm going have to fudge some documentation to avoid having to file a complaint against you as it is. You know that."

"I do know! But we still agreed I could stay until the end of the rotation," Bluestreak insisted, "It's not like the city is going to be fining you either way. I just don't understand what changed."

Heavyswipe made a face.

"My new agent with the city has got tighter bolts than the previous one," he said, "He saw the status of your contract and started sending me requests for eviction processing and potential new renters. It doesn't help that the list of low-income applicants for this place is longer than you are tall.

"You aren't the only mech I've bent the rules for, Bluestreak," Heavyswipe added in a lower voice when Bluestreak started to argue again, "I can't afford an audit right now. It'll cost me my license."

"B-but if you kick me out I don't have anywhere else to go. My friends can only put me up for so long and the creditors are always on my aft and -" Bluestreak struggled to think clearly past the rising surge of distress in his processor, fully aware that he was loosing hold. "- and I know it's not your fault you've done so much for me already it's just that it's not like I don't try to hold down a job and I've put out dozens of applications and -"

Heavyswipe put a hand on his shoulder. It was like a blade, cutting off the stream of helpless babble. Bluestreak locked down his vocalizer with a mix of embarrassment and relief.

"I'm sorry," Heavyswipe said again, kind but unmovable, "You have a joor to clear out."

He spent most of that time messaging friends and wandering aimlessly around his soon-to-be former apartment, trying to stay calm more than anything else. Anything of significant value had long been sold to make rent and bills, leaving him with a mix of maintenance supplies, keepsakes, and various borrowed items. He eventually gave up trying to make intelligent decisions about what to keep and what to leave, and just tossed whatever came to hand in his subspace. There was still more left over than he expected and he only hoped no one hated him too much for forgetting something that belonged to them.

Two of his friends sent replies at the same time Heavyswipe arrived to change the access codes and escort him off the grounds.

Of them, Sideswipe was the closest and since Bluestreak knew better than to drive in his current condition, he decided that was his best option.

Heavyswipe left him at the front gate with a final apology. "I'll refund you that two megacyles worth of rent. You should have it within the joor. Hopefully it'll help."

Bluestreak nodded silently, not trusting what would happen if he released the lock on his vocalizer. Those funds would, at most, pay for a quarter tank of fuel and a few recharge cycles at a rented charging dock. If that. He didn't want to think about what would happen when his other bills started coming due again.

He gripped Heavyswipe's hand in a formal farewell and started his several mile trek to Sideswipe's home. He avoided public transportation out of a mix of remembered embarrassment and fear.

The calm he'd been holding on to steadily began to break. Two miles out from his former home, he'd released his vocalizer without fully realizing it and was talking to himself about anything and everything. It earned him a mix of annoyed and weird looks from other mechs on the street, and not a few irritated requests to not answer his intercom out loud. He kept his optics focused on the ground and walked faster, not responding to anyone directly. Four miles out, he had his arms tightly wrapped himself and fingers digging into previously made dents in his shoulders. He was completely unaware that his self-talk had gone into incoherent mumbling.

Five miles out, the attack hit full force.

He barely managed to get himself out of the flow of foot traffic and into an empty access way. There, he hunkered down against a wall and got lost in a world of false errors and contradictorily alerts. One warning told him his engine was failing even has he felt it roar into its highest output; others screamed about multiple malfunctioning sensors even as those sensors snapped into hyper alert and flooded him with detailed reports of his surroundings. His various fluid tanks pinged him with both empty and overfull warnings, nearly causing him to purge them all in confused reaction. Every single joint tightened and pressurized to its limit, as if frozen at the edge of a transformation. Terror reigned, sending every thought and normally ordered process into shrieking chaos.

He felt like he was dying.

Afterwards, he'd learn it lasted for all of a kilk. At the time, it felt like forever. It always did. And like always, it ended suddenly. The mess of red and yellow warnings cluttering his HUD were smothered under an "Emergency Reboot Initiated" alert and with the briefest blip his entire system reset itself. His HUD cleared and all systems reported their previous status of normal operations. His body unlocked, relaxed, and his vents stretched open wide, sucking in air to cool his overstressed engine.

Relief at being back to normal thudded through him. It was fast followed by frustration and humiliation and a crushing sense of defeat. He was so tired of this.

His sensors alerted him to someone standing over him. He allowed himself a few more seconds to stew in his misery and embarrassment, before looking up to acknowledge the other mech.

A Protector unit. The mech hovered a carefully calculated distance away; far enough back not to crowd Bluestreak and to discourage other mechs from approaching, close enough to jump in and restrain him if needed. Bluestreak's log, now that he was coherent enough to pay attention to it, helpfully informed him that the mech's energy signature had been following him for close to a hundred meters. Someone had probably alerted the unit the moment Bluestreak started to act strange. Great.

"Uh, hi," Bluestreak said weakly, "Sorry about this. I would've found somewhere better to stay to wait it out but I didn't -"

"Can you vocalize your short tag, full designation, and citizenship ranking?" the Protector interrupted in the standard neutral tone.

Bluestreak did so, and, depressingly familiar with this routine by now, pinged the same information to the mech's comms, including his intended destination, his emergency contacts, and his former medic's contact. Technically most of this was in the Protector database, but providing it was as much procedure as it was a test of his coherency. He also, without being asked, stood up and went through the usual set of physical tests too. The Protector's expression slowly went from neutrality to bemusement to mild annoyance.

"Do you need a medic or an escort for the remainder of your trip?" the mech asked and vented a sigh when Bluestreak indicated a negative, "Right. I'm obliged to suggest that in the future, you should travel with an escort or assistant, or, should you feel the onset of a software malfunction, move to a secure location and ping the Protector frequency for help."

Bluestreak gave a non-committal mumble and the Protector's mouth twisted in disapproval.

"The notes on your records indicate you've been fully advised on the reasons for this suggestion and the dangers both to yourself and your fellow citizens should you choose not to follow it. Is this correct?"

"That's correct and I really do listen each time, I swear it's pretty much hard coded into my -"

"Then I won't reissue the statement," the unit said, though it was clear from his posture and pointed stare that he badly wanted to, "Please continue safely to your destination."

"- sure, thanks, got it," Bluestreak said and hurried on his way before the unit could change his mind. The last thing he wanted to deal with right now was being brought in for a discussion and examination. He'd be filling out documentation for the rest of the orn if that happened.

* * *

><p>He arrived at Sideswipe's place during fourth shift to find the shop still open, standing out among its dark and closed up neighbors. Most shops in the district were only open from first through third shift, but Sideswipe and his partner, Sunstreaker, worked by appointment and could be found entertaining clientele at literally any part of the orn.<p>

Bluestreak stuck his head in to see Sideswipe and a mech he didn't know in deep discussion over a hologram that hovered between them. The hologram displayed a more modern, contemporary version of the unknown mech, with a deep purple color scheme gilded in sweeps of chrome. As Bluestreak watched, Sideswipe brushed his hand through the hologram and most of the chrome detailing vanished. It still looked pretty good to Bluestreak's optics, but the mech shook his helm in an instant negative. Sideswipe looked pleased and called back the detailing with another brush.

The stranger spared Bluestreak only a cursory optical scan as he invited himself the rest of the way in; Sideswipe pinged him with a private comm request.

::About time,:: he said, ::I've had a Protector unit harassing me for almost three joor now to let him know when you showed up.::

Bluestreak winced. ::Sorry, sorry, I had a malfunction on the way and if I'd been thinking straight, I would've realized it was coming and waited it out at a rest stop or something, but I didn't and -::

::A Protector unit found you and made a nuisance of itself,:: Sideswipe finished knowingly, ::Well, you made it in one piece, so I can get him off my tail-pipe. If you're up for earning your keep, Sunstreaker left you a mess in the work room. You know the drill.::

::Got it,:: Bluestreak said. He headed to the door at the back of the hexagonal lobby, leaving Sideswipe alone with his customer once again.

The work room was adjacent to the lobby and went down two stories below the main shop. It was filled end-to-end with the tools and equipment of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's body modification business. Huge vents ran constantly, filling the space with a sub-sonic hum as they filtered chemical fumes out of the air. Bluestreak looked out over the edge of the first-story platform to see if Sunstreaker was still around.

He wasn't, but as Sideswipe had said, he'd certainly left his mark behind. In addition to spilled paint and chemicals and tools scattered across every surface, an entire, disembodied exterior shell was laid out on one of the work tables, gleaming faintly in the shop lights. Bluestreak quickly made his way down to the bottom floor to get a closer look.

The shell was about mid-range size, probably for a mech no more than half-again Bluestreak's height, and done up in sleek lines of bright green and blue-tinted black. He muttered his appreciation to himself as he walked around it, trying to construct the mech it belonged to in his processor. It couldn't possibly be for one of the Praxian models, not with that curvature. In fact...

Bluestreak held up his thumb near the edge of one panel to gauge its thickness. Much, much heavier duty than Praxian regulations permitted for exterior plating. Maybe they had non-local customers they worked with? Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were citizens, but they weren't _native_, after all, even if they had been granted citizenship and right to purchase property in a third of the time it took most non-natives. They were exported Kaon models from Tyrest, originally. Some of their clientele may have followed them through the relocation.

Bluestreak shrugged. It hardly mattered in the long road. He had more important things to worry about. Like a messy work room, a depleted bank account, a skyscraper worth of debt, and a list of "Want" ads that may be his only ticket out of the pit he'd found himself at the bottom of.

He turned away from the table and applied himself to the problems he could deal with now.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Bluestreak! You done in here yet?"<p>

Bluestreak halted the one-sided conversation he'd been having with the paint jars and extracted himself from the storage cabinet. "Just another klik," he yelled up, "I've almost got these sorted!"

Sideswipe waved from the first-story platform in acknowledgment. "Come up to the apartment when you're done. I wanna talk."

Sideswipe's voice was jovial, but dread made Bluestreak's processor race anyway. This was the fourth time they'd put him up and while Sideswipe's patience was seemingly endless, at least as long as Bluestreak provided free labor around the shop, Sunstreaker's had been running thin by the last stay.

He did another quick review of the application and resume packet he'd put together for answering the ads. At least he'd have something substantial to show Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.

"I'll be right there!" he called.

Sideswipe waved again and vanished back behind the railing.

* * *

><p>In stark contrast to the cluttered state of the work room, the apartment was clean, sparsely decorated, and pleasingly utilitarian in design. Bluestreak felt himself relaxing even with Sunstreaker's looming, annoyed presence by the wall.<p>

"I have a plan," Bluestreak blurted out, "I've had it for a while, actually, but I was hesitating on it because I really was hoping one of those three places I interviewed at would pan out, but now it's gotten desperate and this is the only thing I can think of. And I know you gotta be tired of having me crash with you all the time, so I wanted to let you know that it won't be for long and it really will be the last time, I swear."

"Easy, Blue, easy," Sideswipe said, "I said you can stay here for the next megacycle and I meant it. Don't let fuss-bot there twist your pistons. He's just sour over getting his finish scratched."

"That's not all I'm sour about," Sunstreaker said. He was frowning at the wall when he said it and didn't elaborate, so Bluestreak had no idea whether the comment was directed at him or not. Sunstreaker was well-known for his mercurial moods and could have been annoyed at literally anything.

Sideswipe pointedly turned away, giving Sunstreaker his shoulder. He held out his hand to Bluestreak in invitation, wrist bent to expose the data ports along his base of his palm. "Tell me about this plan of yours," he said.

Bluestreak accepted the offered hand, fit his finger-tip jacks into the adjacent ports, and uploaded the packet he'd put together. He'd gone ahead and bundled up everything that had happened in the megacycles since they'd last talked and packed it in with the details of his plan, just in case Sideswipe was interested. Sideswipe, in return, send his own data packet.

It was almost as big as Bluestreak's, which wasn't uncommon with Sideswipe and something Bluestreak still found a charming novelty. Most everyone else he knew liked to convey as much information as they could in as few bytes as possible.

"One of these orn, Bluestreak, I'm going to convince you that I don't need two outlines and a cross index to follow a-_what the scrap kind of plan is this_?"

Even though he'd been half expecting it, Bluestreak still jumped at the sudden outburst. "I told you I'm only doing it because I've gotten desperate! I really don't like it either, but if you look again at the list of pros and cons I put together, you can see that -"

"What's he planning?" Sunstreaker demanded of Sideswipe.

"He's going to answer an ad for a contract bonding," Sideswipe said, "Look at this slag."

Bluestreaker sensed the comm connection between them and squirmed under Sideswipe's open disapproval. "Bonding" was the act of two or more mechs entering into a partnership agreement where they co-habituated, shared resources, and spoke for each other in medical and legal matters. While all bonding involved contracts, "contract bonding" specifically referred to a bond entered into for a set period of time, until a particular goal was accomplished, or in exchange for funds. A "union of convenience", as the phrase went, and one that ran counter to all the emotional sentiment and devotion that was cited as the real reason mechs were supposed to become partners.

Even though perfectly legal and fairly common, putting out - or answering - an ad looking for someone to contract-bond with was kind of considered just a little bit...well...

_Be honest, Bluestreak_, he thought, _It means you're a loser_.

"I know I said you should leave Praxus," Sideswipe ranted, "But I didn't mean like this! You have no idea what kind of conditions these mechs live in or what you might be getting yourself into."

"They all have good references," Bluestreak said, "You know I'm not being impulsive; you've seen all the research I've done and all the thought I put into it. I've been planning this for a long time."

"Not nearly long enough if you're planning to answer one from Vos! Have you even listened to the news recently?"

Bluestreak frowned, stung. He actually liked the Vosian one the most. "I'm not sensor glitched. I know what relations between Vos and Praxus are like right now, but that ad specifically requested a Praxian and why would a Vosian go through the whole verification process if they don't like mechs from Praxus anyway?"

"You're sending _these_ picture with your application?" Sunstreaker demanded before Sideswipe could answer Bluestreak's question. Not that Bluestreak particularly wanted to hear what Sideswipe planned to say. He considered Sideswipe a good friend and was deeply grateful to him, but Sideswipe seemed to view him as terribly naive and flighty. "Those colors looked like absolute slag on you."

It was true. Orange and cream had been awful color choices for his frame in retrospect, but he'd wanted so badly to have a look modeled after his favorite stage performer at the time. It was one of the rare cases his patrons had indulged his whims without discussion or requesting a properly researched and presented explanation. Yet another sign of trouble ignored until too late.

"Yeah, but at least I was freshly painted and clean in those shots," Bluestreak said, "I mean, just look at me now."

He held out his arms in illustration. He still had the white base coat from his frame overhaul two vorn ago; a paint job that had only been meant to protect and heal welds, not to be attractive. On top of that, the remains of old grease stained his exposed joints and streaked onto the nearby plating, minor scuffs and dents speckled his exterior shell, the delicate mechanisms of his hands were a wreck, and top to bottom, he was covered in a thin layer of accumulated atmosphere pollution. He wasn't completely disgusting yet, but he was far closer than he'd ever let himself get before. He was ashamed of letting his self-maintenance slide for so long, but increasingly, it seemed like the shame only made it harder to resolve the problem.

Sunstreaker focused on Bluestreak for the first time since he'd entered the apartment and pulled a disgusted sneer. "Ugh. Tell me you weren't planning to show up like that if someone accepts your application."

"Would you stop distracting him?" Sideswipe said, "That's not the issue here."

"And of course I wasn't going to show up like this," Bluestreak said. He winced when Sideswipe gave him a dirty look and compulsively started talking faster to make up for annoying him. "I mean, I still have pride and part of my acceptance terms is an advance payment to close a couple overdue accounts and I'd budgeted a portion of that advance payment to fund a complete repaint and detailing and a system flush too, because I've had this gunk in my forward intake filter that been bugging me like you wouldn't believe and I don't even know where it -"

Sideswipe covered his face and made a helpless 'get on with it' gesture. Bluestreak realized he didn't know where he was going with the conversation thread anymore and made himself stop, embarrassed.

In the following brief silence, Bluestreak's inbox pinged him with a scheduling request for a free repaint as provided by Sunstreaker, of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's Body Shop. Bluestreak stared at Sunstreaker in shock. It was probably the kindest thing the other mech had ever offered him.

"For the love of Primus, Sunstreaker!" Sideswipe snapped. He must have gotten the alert too.

"Scrap you, I don't want him in my apartment in that condition," Sunstreaker said and stepped forward aggressively to poke his partner in the chest, "In fact, you're going to take him out and get him cleaned off before he even _touches_ our charging dock."

Sideswipe didn't respond out loud, but Bluestreak could sense the encrypted conversation that flew between them. He waited, but they didn't seem in any rush to wrap it up. His feelings of unease began to roll over into despair. Sideswipe was right, of course. It was a horrible plan. An unsuitable, deeming one. He'd be going from a life of independence and devotion to hard work, community service, and utilizing his abilities to the fullest to... to being an accessory. None of the ads stated that he couldn't get a job or engage in hobbies after the bonding occurred, but they did state that his partner's requests for companionship and assistance with household matters were to take precedence over any other activity. Unless he lucked out with a partner who only wanted his company to see a stage play or concert once a megacycle, Bluestreak's time for the next ten vorn was not going to be his own.

But what other options did he have left? Continue bouncing between friends until they ran out of patience and spare funds? Squat in the underlevels with the rest of the homeless and beg for resources? Hide until the creditors found him? Deal with the steady decay of his glitch until the City Protection Force successfully got him committed to the care facilities? Maybe that would be a good thing; he'd be shut off from all his friends, from the outside world, have his every move restricted and monitored… but at least they would work on fixing his glitch. Assuming it was something that could be fixed. Assuming the damage wasn't permanent.

The sheer hopelessness of his situation crashed over him, sending a warning scatter of error messages across his vision. He stiffened in sharp, sudden fear and the emotional surge triggered several false alerts that his core temperature was in the red and that his frantically spinning heat sinks were malfunctioning. _No, slag it, not again_.

He initiated force shut down commands to the programs that seemed most affected and oh, thank Primus, they responded. Only the system that monitored his internal temperature crashed in the process of shutting down and needed a full hardware boot. His second one of the orn. He wrote himself a note to do that during his next recharge cycle, trusted the failsafe to protect him for now, restarted the disabled programs, and ran a diagnostic.

"-uestreak?"

Bluestreak jerked his head up.

"Huh, what?" he stammered, completely flustered. A backlog of external data abruptly loaded into in his cache, informing him that Sideswipe had been trying to get his attention for a while. He hadn't even noticed that he'd stopped receiving from his sensors. "I - I wasn't paying attention, sorry, I just got - what did you say?"

Oh, this was awful; they'd been staring at him for a full klik while he stood there failing to respond. It wasn't the first time they'd seen him in the middle of an attack, but that did nothing to stem the mortification and self-disgust that made him hunch his shoulders and babble defensive excuses.

Sunstreaker looked away and investigated his hand, never once loosing the expression of cynical distaste.

Sideswipe, by contrast, was unreadable. He firmly cut off Bluestreak's stream of words. "I checked with the local auto-wash and they have a slot open. If we head out now, I can keep you company until my next appointment. And I'll pay for it," he added, when Bluestreak started to talk again.

"I - thanks," Bluestreak said in a small voice.

They left Sunstreaker were he stood, still adjusting something in his hand. Bluestreak waved a dutiful goodbye; Sideswipe made no tangible acknowledgement of his partner, but that was common with the pair.

He fell in behind Sideswipe as they went through the small office that connected the apartment to the shop lobby. He stared at his friend's back, unconsciously flaring and angling his sensor panels as he tried to get a gauge on Sideswipe's mood and the reason for the abrupt change. Was he mad? Still thought Bluestreak was being stupid? Unsettled by the attack? Bluestreak, himself, would've been bothered to witness something like that.

"So," Sideswipe said suddenly, "I figured I could go over that list of ads you're responding to. Vet the references, give pointers for tailoring your resume. Stuff like that." He cast a cautious look over his shoulder as he triggered open the door into the lobby.

Relief and gratefulness flooded Bluestreak and perked up his entire posture. Sideswipe didn't approve, but he was accepting, and for that, Bluestreak couldn't be more grateful.

"Yes! That would be really great, I mean it," he said.

The tension left Sideswipe's frame and he returned Bluestreak's smile. "In that case, I got a thing or two to say about this Polyhex fellow with the turbofox collection..."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

All that was stated in Part One, remains true in Part two.

See the end of the chapter for time notes.

* * *

><p>"You aren't modding it, are you? If you aren't, you aren't, just say so and I'll believe you, but that design does seem more rounded than before and I really do like the square, classic lines, so I think-"<p>

Sunstreaker turned away from the holographic display to stare at Bluestreak.

"-haha, don't listen to me, I'm sure it's fine, I'll trust you to do whatever you think is best, since you're the expert in this situation and I've always-"

"Stop," Sunstreaker said, with that particular pained expression that always made him seem more baffled than angry. As if Bluestreak were some strange creature he couldn't begin to make sense of.

Bluestreaker's vocalizer squeaked at being turned off mid-word. He gave several frantic nods and returned to the nanite colonies he'd been tending.

Sunstreaker had dozens he used for his work, all in various stages of stasis, reproductive expansion, and population maintenance, depending on how soon he was going to need them. Their primary purpose was cosmetic repair and modification; a robust colony could remove the appearance of weld lines, fill in scars and abrasions, reinforce weak spots and dig out networks of capillaries and sensor connectors in new or reforged plating. All while said plating was removed from the mech themselves, so as not to interfere with the behavior of their native nanites.

He checked the display on the tank in front of him, then added in the requisite amount of ore nuggets and metal shavings.

"Here you go, a nice tasty treat," he said.

The colony appeared as little more than a layer of thick, silver liquid spread out on the bottom of the plexiglass tank. It shifted in reaction to the nuggets, first retreating and then swarming back to swallow the pieces, forming a lumpy silver ball around them.

A strange sort of bittersweet nostalgia rose in Bluestreak. When he was in his early development phases, his patrons had kept a giant nanite colony on display in the main lobby of their office building. Part living sculpture and part fountain, Buestreak used to press his palms against the crystal walls of the enclosure and watch the seething, multi-colored mass spin and stretch and twist into fantasy cityscape's that reached high over his head. That colony was long gone now.

He banished the memory files before he could get lost in them. He was in too good a mood to deal with the past right then; he was clean inside and out the first time in a rotation, his plan was better than ever with Sideswipe's input, and before too long, he was going to have revitalized plating and a new, proper paint job.

That thought had his attention drifting back to the design Sunstreaker was working on. A scaled down holographic replica of Bluestreak's robot mode and vehicle mode stood before him, already changed from dingy white to a dark gray with medium gray helm, forearms, and back-mounted sensor panels, and black hips. Not to mention a noticeably sleeker cabin on the alt mode. As Bluestreak watched, Sunstreaker touched the color palette that hovered at his elbow and added bright red to the hologram's thighs.

Bluestreak automatically started to protest. Red was already an attention getting color and being set against a conservative gray only made it more so. He checked the words before his vocalizer could produce them and resolutely focused on the nanite tank. Sunstreaker was doing this completely for free as a gift to him, after all, and he shouldn't complain.

Well, not that he had any leverage to complain with, considering Sunstreaker had stripped him of his plating and outfitted him with a temporary set the nanoklik he and Sideswipe returned from the auto-wash. Technically, he could return Bluestreak's shell in any condition he wished.

Maybe Bluestreak shouldn't think about that too much.

"Lets get you back into your dock before you run out of energy," he said to the unresponsive colony. He returned the tank to its wall mount and went on to the next.

* * *

><p>A message was waiting in his inbox when he came out of recharge.<p>

Actually, several messages were waiting, not the least of which was one from the City Protection Forces, and Bluestreak would bet anything that the report of his last public incident had them wanting him to come in for another evaluation.

The only one that caught his attention, though, was for the Vosian contract bonding ad from a mech called Thundercracker.

A little fission of nervous excitement went through Bluestreak's circuits. This would be only the second reply he'd gotten since answering the ads three orn ago.

The first respondent, who hailed from a high end district in Uraya, had immediately started out trying to negotiate a cheaper advance payment - something Sideswipe said Bluestreak should have planned for and declared him a "lost cause" when he admitted to asking for the exact funds he needed up front. The contractual obligations weren't unreasonable, amounting mostly to "keep me company during parties" and "read this literature so we can talk about it together", but it seemed like the mech couldn't afford more than half Bluestreak's asking price. He really didn't want to have to sell himself for that little. Hopefully this Thundercracker mech would have better terms.

Bluestreak left the message unprocessed for the moment and began extracting himself from between Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Since they'd gone straight into recharge without untangling themselves, this required a lot pushing off of limbs and careful disconnecting of cables without pulling. Sunstreaker's automated proximity sensors pinged at him in reaction to the handling, but neither mech powered up. Finally free, he scooted to the edge of the charging dock platform and stood. Once out of the dock's induction field, his systems switched over from city power to internal power with the usual internal shiver.

His first stop was the maintenance station in the corner of the apartment. It was a square section of sunken floor equipped with a drain, a counter, a deep sink, and several floor length mirrors set at angles to each other.

Those mirrors showed a customized Class A5 Praxian model in shades of gray and silver with optic-catching splashes of red on thighs, upper arms, and the chevron on his forehead. The 'customized' part came in the shape of his armor; standard A5s were angular in the chest, legs, and back, leading toward boxy. Sunstreaker had softened the lines of his shell, making them curve inward instead of pointing out, not drastically so, but enough to give a sleek appearance in place of his former squarish bulk. More akin to a Class 70H, only without the doubled sensor panels.

"It suits you better," Sunstreaker had said in that way that dared Bluestreak to tell him otherwise.

Bluestreak had been to surprised find himself agreeing. Still, it was strange at first, seeing his altered appearance reflected back at him. Like all mechs, he'd cultivated a personal 'look' over the vorn of his life. Paint jobs changed in color, but followed the same theme, little decorations became signature elements, helms gained unique attachments. All of Bluestreak's individual elements had been lost in the frame overhaul, but he'd always imagined he'd get them back the nanoklik he could afford to.

Now, staring into the mirrors, Bluestreak realized he was relieved that he didn't look like his old self again.

_Maybe it's better if that 'me' just doesn't exist anymore._

He shook off the cynical thought and began the painstaking process of checking himself over for the slightest dent, scuff, scratch, or stain.

One of the downsides, he'd discovered, of getting a free paint job from Sunstreaker was that he took the same proprietary interest in it as he did in his own paint job. Which meant no, Bluestreak couldn't wait and let his self-repairs tend to any minor damage, he had to fix it _now_ or else Sunstreaker was going to sit him down and do it for him. Sunstreaker didn't seem to mind this anymore than he seemed to mind anything, but Sideswipe protested long and loud at Sunstreaker doubling his already lengthy self-maintenance routine by tending to Bluestreak too. In the spirit of avoiding fights, Bluestreak decided it was easier to put in the extra effort of keeping himself up.

It took all of a breem to wipe out the marks of the previous orn and then another to check his filters and fluid levels and the looseness of his joints. That done, he took a full ventilation cycle to brace himself and opened the message from Thundercracker.

The initial part of the message was a long, formal greeting. Very long and very formal; followed by an equally long and formal 'thank you' for submitting his resume. It was kind of... grandiose. Overblown. It made Bluestreak think of those comedy stage shows where "nobles" made extravagant speeches about minor events and covered themselves in nets of LEDs, so that every other character acted like they were being blinded whenever the noble was on stage.

That image had Bluestreak giggling before he was half-way through. Really, this mech made it sound like they were negotiating a high-stakes business transaction, not a contract bonding. All at once, the entire process didn't seem quite so awful and frightening.

The actual contract terms and monetary offer were downright concise compared to the opening. Thundercracker was offering 10% less on the advance fee, and about 30% less on the living allowance. Not the amount Bluestreak needed, but considerably more than the Uraya mech. Bluestreak would be granted a private room, computer terminal, and charging dock with energy allotment, which would not come out of the allowance, but he would have to provide for his own furnishings, entertainment, upgrades, and regular maintenance. As a bond partner, he would be covered under Thundercracker's insurance for emergency repairs. He would have two free shifts out of every orn and four non-consecutive orn off every rotation.

In exchange, he would be required to provide Thundercracker with accompaniment to any social event, meeting, or show Thundercracker chose to attend, even if it required rescheduling his free time. He would have to maintain proper etiquette and abide Thundercracker's requests throughout the duration of said events, and/or attend training on how to do so as ordered. Social charm and wit would be a bonus, but not necessary. When not attending events, he would be assigned administrative and household chores, including the tracking and updating of Thundercracker's personal appointments.

The details went on. It was... a great deal more impersonal than the one from the Uraya mech. That contract had obviously been the product of a profoundly lonely individual. This sounded more like scouting for a personal assistant. A positive from Bluestreak's perspective, but it didn't seem worth going through the cost and hassle of a contract bonding for.

He analyzed the contract terms twice more, trying to read between the lines like Sideswipe was teaching him to. When that yielded nothing suspicious, he examined the included pictures and bio.

Thundercracker had been creche raised - Vos, unlike Praxus and many other city-states, scorned the patronage system - and joined the air defense forces as soon as he passed his proficiency exams. He swiftly achieved officer rank and was eventually granted a government position by his commander. This was common in Vos, where they favored military leaders over civilian or publicly appointed ones. The bio went on further regarding Thundercracker's rank in relation to his commander and another mech that was apart of his unit, but exactly how all that translated into Praxian terms, Bluestreak had no idea. Thundercracker had an exemplary service record, a fondness for classical music and a type of dance Bluestreak didn't recognize, preferred solitude to large crowds, and historical documents to fictional literature or stage shows. It was essentially the same information as the original ad.

The pictures showed a blue and pale gray seeker model with a tetra jet altmode. All the images had the stiffness of posed shots and Thundercracker wore the same stern, closed-off expression in each one. He didn't look at all nice or friendly, but then again, neither did Sunstreaker, and he could be really kind and considerate when you gave him the chance and didn't take anything he said personally. Maybe this Thundercracker didn't like getting his picture taken.

He was an attractive mech, for all his apparent grumpiness. He had strong, clean-cut features that went nicely with his helm shape and kept himself well maintained. His frame wasn't quite to Bluestreak's tastes, being a little long in the torso, but his back-mounted wings added a broadness to the chest and shoulders that Bluestreak's Praxian sensibilities approved of. It didn't matter, in the long road, whether or not Bluestreak _enjoyed_ looking at his future partner, but it certainly wouldn't hurt.

Bluestreak wandered from the maintenance station to the one exterior wall while he processed the message. A remote command made a section of the wall transparent, letting him watch the flow of traffic outside. There was a narrow walkway and below and beyond that, a plaza where merchants who couldn't afford permanent shops set up temporary stalls. A freeway arched overhead, casting its broad shadow on the bustling crowd. It was the first Sun Season of the vorn and what light made it past the freeway flashed off bright chrome and multi-hued armor. The cheery merchant banners billowed and waved lazily in the wind channeled through the turbines up the street.

It was Praxus, living and moving and beautiful. It was home and he was going to miss it.

* * *

><p>It took another joor for Sideswipe to power up out of recharge. Bluestreak kept himself occupied - and quiet - during that time by answering the rest of his mail and voice-chatting with a friend. He made plans to stay over with this friend if he wasn't already moving in with his new partner by end of the megacycle.<p>

"Well, this Thundercracker goes on forever about nothing as much as you do," Sideswipe said, "It's a perfect match."

"I don't go on forever about nothing! That's mean," Bluestreak said.

"And hypocritical," Sunstreaker added from the maintenance station.

Sideswipe ignored both of them, his attention split between the datapad of financial records in his hands and the copy of Thundercracker's message in his processor. Bluestreak wondered which one was making him frown so hard.

After another klik of silent scrolling on the pad, Sideswipe opened his vents in a deep sigh.

"Sunstreaker," he called over to his partner, "I need you to come check this. No, now, it's important. Put down the rag. Bluestreak," he continued, "Vos is a bad idea. Vosians are insular and elitist, and it's all about who you know or who you can pay off. I don't want to think about what would happen if you got into any kind of legal trouble over there. _But_... this a good offer. I've done research for comparison and it's highly unlikely you're going to get a better one."

Sunstreaker stomped over while Sideswipe talked and snatched the datapad out of his hand. Sideswipe held up both hands in a pacifying gesture.

"I want to accept it," Bluestreak said, "I like the sound of it, especially the contract terms because it sounds like I'd actually have something to do and Vos is pretty close to Praxus, so visiting will be easier. I know you're worried and I understand why, but I know how to be careful. It's not like I'm going to be breaking any laws anyway."

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker paused at that and a comm chat flashed between them. Something about their expressions gave Bluestreak the irritated feeling that they thought he was being naive again. The feeling only increased when Sunstreaker snorted and turned his attention to the datapad in dismissal.

"If only everything worked that way," Sideswipe said out loud, clearly echoing Sunstreaker's unspoken sentiment.

"But," he added in response to Bluestreak's attempted protest, "It's still your decision. Don't accept right away; send back a counter-offer asking for a 10% increase on the allowance and removal of the termination stipulation that makes you responsible for all legal fees. You won't get the latter, but you will get some extra on the former."

He tapped down on his annoyance. In the end, Sideswipe had been a big help to him when he didn't need to be and Bluestreak was grateful. "I will. Thank you."

* * *

><p>It didn't take long for him to make changes to the response he'd drafted up earlier and, after another nervous review for errors, send it to Thundercracker. Now it was back to waiting and with no chores to do in the shop for the time being, Bluestreak re-read one of his favorite fictional documents and half-listened to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's conversation on the other side of the apartment.<p>

"He'll want to discuss this in person," Sunstreaker said and gestured with the datapad, "I'm not going. I can't stand that slagger."

"I wasn't going to send you," Sideswipe said in a low voice, "But I was hoping to put off going until after -" He dropped into an encrypted comm line.

"Don't be stupid, that's too long. Just reschedule your appointments. I'll use the time to finish my backlog and keep myself from throwing Bluestreak in the smelter."

"Hey!" Bluestreak said laughingly, since they knew he was ease-dropping.

"He's bluffing, he wouldn't destroy a paint job he did," Sideswipe said.

"That's why I'd take the armor off first," Sunstreaker said, a rare glint of humor in the curve of his mouth.

A warm feeling rose in Bluestreak. It was nice when Sunstreaker accepted his presence enough to include him in the teasing. He began to formulate a reply - only to freeze at the message that popped up in his inbox. Already?

"Blue?" Sideswipe asked as the pause lengthened.

"Thundercracker replied." Excitement and unease chased themselves through his processor. "He approved the counteroffer and wants to do a live interview."

* * *

><p>Six joor later found Bluestreak in Sideswipe's cramped little office. The computer terminal stood in the center of the room; a narrow table bisected by a glass screen in a thin silver frame. An antiquated design, but attractive in it's clean lines. Sideswipe had already started up the video conference software, patched into the terminal, and retreated to finish preparing for his own upcoming trip. He was going to be remotely monitoring the interview, an offer that, Bluestreak suspected, came as much from curiosity as helpfulness.<p>

This was it. If the interview went well, he'd soon be on his way to a new home.

Bluestreak gave himself a good, armor rattling shake to settle his nerves, and approached the computer. A quick hand gesture brought the software out of standby and allowed him to enter the comm channel he'd been given. A connection alert bearing the insignia of Vos popped up, requesting his personal ID for verification before the call could be completed. The screen cleared for a nanoklik after the data was transmitted, giving Bluestreak a flash of the painting mounted on the opposite wall, then smoothly transitioned into a live video feed.

A seeker stood against the sprawling backdrop of a foreign cityscape with hands braced on his hips and head lifted in a haughty expression. His build was nearly identical to Thundercracker's, with a paint job of red, white, and bright blue in place of more muted blues and grays, but the real difference was attitude. There was nothing of the stiff postured, stern-faced Thundercracker in this mech's cocky stance or intent stare.

"Oh, ah, hi," Bluestreak said, caught off-guard at being faced with a stranger instead of Thundercracker, "I have an appointment with -"

"I am Starscream, Vos Air Marshal and Arial Defense Force adviser to Emirate Race Wing, and direct superior to Wing Commander Thundercracker," the seeker said. He had a high, raspy voice, and something about his wording made Bluestreak think of the overwrought intro to Thundercracker's first message. "I will be conducting the initial part of this interview on my subordinate's behalf."

The excessive formality jolted Bluestreak out of his surprise, but he grasped onto it almost without thinking. He could do formality. It was familiar and easy.

Bluestreak spread out his sensor panels and aligned his body into the appropriate welcoming stance. "Well met, Air Marshal. I am Bluestreak, Praxus Citizen Fifth Tier, Rank Ceta. I look forward to a productive meeting. Do you wish to begin?"

"You're unemployed, correct?" Starscream asked without answering the question.

"That - that's correct," Bluestreak said, a little confused at the choice of opening. Starscream should know this already, unless Thundercracker didn't share Bluestreak's bio with him. "As stated in my application."

"Then what are you doing for resources?" Starscream's tone was almost accusatory.

Bluestreak barely kept himself from jerking back at the unexpected rudeness. Did he want to make sure Bluestreak wasn't stealing to survive or something?

"Friends of mine are giving me energy and a place to stay in exchange for helping out with their business."

"So they'll put you up and give you work, but they won't hire you?"

"Excuse me, I don't see how that is relevant to the interview topic." Bluestreak felt his sensor panels folding back defensively and made an effort to straighten them.

"Oh, come now," Starscream said, waving his hand, "Naturally, I don't want my subordinate bonded to someone who is so lazy, incompetent, or emotionally unstable that even his own friends won't employee him. It is a _reasonable_ concern."

Put that way, Bluestreak was torn between agreeing that yes, it was reasonable, and getting even more offended. He'd included references with the application packet specifically to address those sorts of concerns; it was Thundercracker and Starscream's responsibility to utilize said references if they had doubts. Still, the question did have an answer and it wouldn't hurt to share it.

"It's a small business," he said, "They can't support a third employee." At least not at the salary he would need to earn. Sunstreaker didn't strictly want another mech 'taking up space' in his workshop, either, but he had admitted once or twice that if they did ever need a third, Bluestreak was the only one of Sideswipe's friends he would tolerate in the position. ("As long as I don't have to live with him, too," Sunstreaker had been quick to clarify.)

"Ah, is that it?" Starscream titled his head and tapped a thoughtful finger against his chin. His optics were narrowed and focused. It was all Bluestreak could do to not squirm uncomfortably, like the underside of his plating was covered in grit. "You mean it has nothing to do with that persistent software malfunction of yours?"

::That aft is trying to catch you in a lie,:: Sideswipe said over commlink.

Bluestreak had just figured that out himself. He sent Sideswipe an agreement and said out loud, "No. I mean, the malfunction causes problems, but they'd be willing to work around the difficulties." Bluestreak couldn't stop himself from adding, "And my friends aren't native Praxian, so it's different for them."

::So hey, remember what I said about _Vosians_ being insular and elitist?::

::But it's true and it's not like I hold it against you or anything!::

Starscream snapped his fingers, as if an idea had just occurred to him.

"That reminds me," he said, "I was given to understand that the Praxian method of citizenship ranking was based on work performance, moral standing, and service to the community and state. How _does_ one become desperate enough to apply for a contract bonding while maintaining any manner of a Fifth Tier ranking?"

Despite the derogatory wording, Starscream's tone was nothing but sincere, polite interest. Bluestreak honestly couldn't tell if he was being genuine or not. It was uncomfortably reminiscent of the last time he'd attended a social event for upper tier citizens after his patrons' deaths. He used to love such events; the opportunity to meet and speak with those powerful citizens who cared for and shaped Praxus; the knowledge that he was, even in a lesser way, one of them. But going had after the accident had been a mistake. Far too many mechs making a point of coming over to ask probing, insinuating questions in voices oily sweet with pity and concern. His official ranking aside, he just wasn't comfortable in that world right now.

Unfortunately, even if Starscream was trying to get a rise out of Bluestreak, there wasn't much he could do but keep his cool. If he acted out, Starscream would discourage Thundercracker from bonding with him, for one, and for another, there was still the chance that Starscream _was_ innocently curious as he sounded. Some people just weren't good at socializing.

"My ranking was locked while I was in recovery from an accident," Bluestreak said, "After that, the ranking committee concluded it wasn't my fault that the resulting software malfunction made it difficult for me to take up my previous responsibilities. So my rank remains static until the malfunction is repaired." Or he deteriorated into insanity and was committed, one of the two.

"Hm. And is it repairable?"

"I - I don't know."

Surprise softened Starscream's haughty expression. For the first time, Bluestreak noticed he had a nice face. Definitely of a similar mold to Thundercracker's, but somewhat narrower in the jaw and further apart in the optics.

"Not for certain, though the state medic who evaluated me seemed positive," Bluestreak explained compulsively, "But I haven't been able to afford the services of a medic-programmer, 'cause I inherited a lot of debt from my patrons' failed business and that plus the repair costs from the accident have been so much even selling everything wasn't enough to cover everything, so it's just been all I could do to keep up on my living expenses, but I -"

::You're babbling.::

Bluestreak disabled his vocalizer. A warning that his hydraulics were losing pressure popped in his HUD. He quickly rebooted the monitoring program and was relieved when it returned an 'operation normal' this time.

Starscream looked downright sardonic. "How _fascinating_," he drawled and there was nothing remotely pleasant about his tone or words this time, "Tell me, how is it that you're such a _valuable_ community resource that you get a special status for it, and yet there's no spare state funds to make you useful again?"

Confusion made Bluestreak frown. "It's not the responsibility of Praxus to pay for my repairs."

Starscream made a disgusted noise. Anger and protest rose in Bluestreak and he struggled with the urge to defend his city. He really couldn't expect a Vosian to appreciate the Praxian values of self-reliance and responsibility.

"Regardless, I've heard all I've needed to," Starscream said, "I'm passing my impressions of our meeting on to Thundercracker. They are positive, you should be pleased to hear."

Starscream paused pointedly. It took a nanoklik for Bluestreak's processor to catch up.

"Uh, thank you," Bluestreak said.

Annoyance flickered across Starscream's face and Bluestreak got the feeling that wasn't the response he'd been expecting. "I'll inform Thundercracker that you're ready to speak to him."

He made a hand gesture Bluestreak recognized as a computer command. The screen switched over to a "Please hold" graphic.

::Do me a favor,:: Sideswipe said, ::Punch that mech when you get to Vos.::

::I'm not going to punch anyone!::

::In the faceplates, Blue.::

Bluestreak ignored him in favor of regaining his composure. He had to concentrate to recall the list of possible questions he'd thought up to ask Thundercracker and to get his frame and sensor panels to relax into a less tense posture. The strange, abrupt conversation had been unexpectedly rattling. Bluestreak really hoped that he would be able to avoid Starscream after bonding to Thundercracker and instantly felt bad about it. The two were probably very close. Why else would Starscream want to interview someone Thundercracker was considering a bond with?

The graphic on the computer screen flashed to alert him it was being taken off hold. This time, when the video feed faded in, it was Thundercracker who looked back at him.

Or rather, frowned moodily at him in near perfect replication of the biography photos.

"Bluestreak," Thundercracker said with a nod of acknowledgement. Unlike Starscream's high rasp, Thundercracker had a deep, rumbling voice that vibrated against Bluestreak's plating even through the speakers. He shivered in surprise.

"Thundercracker, _hi_." A giddy rush of relief and nerves went through him when Thundercracker didn't do more than nod again in response to the greeting. He hurried on to avoid any awkward silence. "It's nice to meet you at last! Thank you so much for reviewing my application and I'm glad I'm a match for what you're looking for."

Thundercracker grunted. "Your application had all the information I needed. You got any questions?"

"Oh, yes! I have several," Bluestreak said, "Well, I guess to start, I should ask what kind of accommodations you live in and if it's private or shared or what. Your bio said that you were part of a unit, but it didn't mention if you cohabitate with them."

"I don't," Thundercracker said, "I got a place granted me as part of my adviser position."

"So you live alone?"

Thundercracker hesitated. It was only a nanoklik, but that was long enough for Bluestreak to start up again. "I mean, I'm really good at sharing and getting along with most anyone, so it's not a problem if I'm going to be living with a bunch of other mechs and I know I'm getting my own personal room besides. I just thought it would be good to know, in case any of them need to have their space or if I'm supposed to be doing chores for them too."

Thundercracker opened his mouth.

Bluestreak didn't even pause. "I don't mind, by the way, having do to the same sort of administrative and escort work as mentioned in the contract for the rest of your household, but I do want to make sure if that's what's expected of me so we can work out it and especially make sure we all have our space and everything."

Thundercracker was staring at him and Sideswipe was sending him warning pings, but it was no good. The combo of relief that this mech was much less unsettling than Starscream and the worry that he was going to give a bad impression had both loosened and sped up his vocalizer.

"I live alone," Thundercracker said finally, interrupting a reiteration that Bluestreak really was good at getting along with other mechs, really.

"- Oh! Then I guess all the rest isn't a concern then, unless you have guests over, but that's different and I'm sure we'll work out arrangements beforehand and -"

"That it? That all you wanted to know?" Thundercracker broke in again.

Bluestreak's processor skipped threads without missing a beat. "No, I have several questions like I said and the next one is what exactly will my duties entitle? Mainly the part about the administrative and household chores, because the contract made it sound pretty broad. Not that you'd have to go into specifics now, but - "

He kept going, finding new points that he wanted to clarify to make sure Thundercracker didn't misunderstand him. But from Thundercracker's expression, he may as well have been speaking another language. Bluestreak wasn't sure if it was because he was explaining himself too much or not enough. He focused and managed to rein in his wandering monologue.

"Well, anyway, that's what I wanted to know."

Silence.

Confusion drifted slowly across Thundercracker's expression. He made a motion to talk, stopped, and scowled at Bluestreak suspiciously.

Bluestreak nearly shorted out his vocalizer holding back the stream of reiterations and reassurances that wanted to come out. A distraction arrived in the form of Sunstreaker patching into his and Sideswipe's commlink.

::What the slag is going on in there? Sideswipe is acting like a complete idiot.::

::Oh Primus help me, his _face_,:: Sideswipe said, the words nearly indistinct with laughter.

That was not a good sign.

"You'll be recording meetings," Thundercracker said. He spoke warily, as if expecting Bluestreak to suddenly start screaming and attacking the screen. "Getting those recording verified, noted, and archived. Receiving packages. Tracking my appointments. Not leaving your mess all over. That's all."

"Great, that'll be no problem for me at all," Bluestreak said, nodding eagerly. He wanted to ask his next question without any unnecessary chatter or rambling, truly he did. Thundercracker seemed like a decent enough mech; he didn't need Bluestreak going off about nothing.

But every micron of his armor felt hyper charged with nervous energy, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were getting into a fight over the comms, and Thundercracker... Thundercracker looked somewhere between annoyed and resigned. The battle was lost before it even started.

Bluestreak managed to get two more questions answered in the several breem that followed; one about leaving Vos for vacations ("not for the first vorn") and another about having guests over ("for short visits, yes. For longer than two shifts, no. I don't like company."). The rest of the time was taken up by his talking. He kept expecting Thundercracker to interrupt again or tell him to be quiet, but the other mech just stood there and stared. After a while, he folded his arms across his chest, leaned back on his heels, and gave every impression of intending to stand there and stare all orn. Occasionally he would glance somewhere off camera, make a vague gesture at the screen, and shrug, but that was it.

When an interruption finally did come, it was from an unexpected source.

"Enough!" Starscream's all-too-distinctive voice lashed through the speakers, stopping Bluestreak mid-sentence and causing both him _and_ Thundercracker to jump.

"You have more important business to attend to than listening to anymore of this chattering," Starscream continued, though the mech himself didn't appear on screen. Bluestreak was horrified to realize Starscream had to have been watching and listening the entire time.

"I don't know, Starscream," Thundercracker said slowly, the faintest hint of a smirk about his mouth, "I think he's got more to say."

A giggle escaped Bluestreak before he could help it. Thundercracker looked over at him and their optics met in a brief flash of mutual understanding before the seeker's closed-off frown reinstated itself. For the first time, hope that maybe this would work out after all flared to life in Bluestreak's spark.

An inarticulate sound came from Starscream's direction. Thundercracker straightened, his frame taking on all the stiff formality of a Protection Unit at full attention.

"Thank you for your time, Bluestreak," he intoned. His voice had dropped another octave, making the speakers thrum with effort. "I'll send over the documentation to complete our bonding contract shortly. If you're still willing to go ahead."

Frankly, Bluestreak was surprised that Thundercracker still wanted to bond with him. The hope flared brighter. "Yes! Yes, I am. I'll look forward to it."

Thundercracker grimaced. "Right. Send me any other questions you got then. Thundercracker out."

Bluestreak managed to get out a quick "Goodbye" before the call terminated.

Not much for parting words, these seekers.

The program stand-by icon flashed at him twice before the screen cleared. Bluestreak looked at the painting on the far wall without really seeing it as the final bit of his frantic energy drained away. He cycled air through his systems and released it a long, hard vent.

::Well,:: he said to the silence in the commlink, ::What do you think of Thundercracker?::

::Masochist,:: Sunstreaker said.

::Desperate,:: Sideswipe said.

::Hiding something,:: Sunstreaker added.

::Boss is a slagger,:: Sideswipe tossed out.

The pair were in the apartment when he left the office. Sideswipe knelt on the floor with supplies for his trip to one of their vendors spread out around him. Sunstreaker leaned against the back wall, intently carving a piece of helm plating with a sharp edged stylus.

"But," Sideswipe said, looking up at Bluestreak, "He wants you around, so he can't be all bad."

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

**Notes - Time units:**

A joor is 1 and 1/4th hours

A shift is 10 hours

An orn is 60 hours

A megacycle is 12.5 days, just shy of two weeks

A rotation is 60 day, or 8.5 weeks

A vorn is 83 years

A breem is 8.3 minutes.

A klik is just over a minute.

A nanoklik is a second.

A/N: I'm going to be sad when Sunny and Sides are no longer in this regularly.


End file.
